


liefred & linden

by emeraldgreaves



Category: Shepherds of Haven - Lena Nguyen
Genre: Different AUs, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:27:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27478036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emeraldgreaves/pseuds/emeraldgreaves
Summary: Various bits, canon or otherwise, featuring Red Antiqua & Moira Linden.
Relationships: Main Character/Red Antiqua
Kudos: 2





	1. packing

In retrospect, trying to start with his desk might have been a mistake.

He’d meant to pack all of this up when he sat down, but he certainly had a minute to wrap up his notes on that last chapter, and the proof was just begging to be worked on, and if he graded those exams he could hand them back when they arrived -

A polite knock startles him from his work. Moira stands in the doorway, grey eyes bright with amusement. He’s still getting used to the idea of having her around, though the shorter hair helps - the coal-black waves that used to fall to her waist now frame her face neatly.

“Pan told me you were packing up your office. Though now I see that was code for ‘five more minutes so I can finish this’.”

He grins briefly. “Guilty as charged. Though in my defense, I was going to clear up eventually.” 

A quick twist of his hand lets her step over the threshold - the last archmage had spelled it thoroughly after a couple of students tried to sneak in and peek at his experiments. This event definitely didn’t help him update the door wards with almost trivial ease when _he_ became Archmage, and has no particular connection to the way that Moira pauses to admire the new designs.

“These are beautifully done. The way you connected the alarms to Archmage Tevanti’s originals - and that’s Neon’s handiwork in some of these, but you’ve redirected the energy to power the ward, instead of dispeling it completely…..” She trails off momentarily, absorbed in the details. He can almost see her the way she’s piecing the pattern in her head. 

“Perceptive as ever. No wonder you were top of our class.” He runs one hand through his hair before beginning to shuffle the papers together. 

Her mouth quirks upward in a small smile. “I had a good study partner. Is this sigil for fireproofing?”

He clears his throat, a little nervously. “There was an... incident while I was trying to measure the efficacy of an experimental spell.”

She gives him a knowing look. “You singed your eyebrows off again.”

“It was a practical learning experience,” he retorts lightly, leaning back in his chair. “And my eyebrows grew back.”

She lets her hand fall from the doorway as she surveys the room with interest. It could be the Shepherd uniform, or just a mark of how much time has passed, but she carries herself differently now - the elegance was always there, but there’s something grounded about it now. Confidence, maybe. Or the burden of responsibility.

Archimetrius shuffles on his perch as she approaches. “Hi, Arkie. Remember me?” He hoots cantankerously, and she smiles. “I’ll take that as a yes.” 

When the owl tries to nibble at her fingers, she laughs - a quiet, warm sound that almost jolts him back to seven years ago. He’s suddenly grateful that her focus is elsewhere as she crosses to the bookshelf and scans the titles. “I see you’re still sorting by color. Doesn’t it get harder to find books as you acquire them?”

He smiles at the memory - this debate is familiar territory. “I’ll have you know that becoming the archmage officially gives me the right to arrange my shelves as I’d like. Besides, I’ve heard that the aesthetic appeal of your workspace can help improve productivity."

She quirks a brow at him. “So does organizing your books by subject matter. Or title. Or author, even.” She selects a battered book from the blue section and flips it open. He recognizes it as an anatomy text that he’d pulled from the library - one that she’d spend hours poring over in between classes, when she’d decided to become a Healer. Trying to figure out how people worked, she said.

Lately he’s been trying to figure that out himself.

She glances out the window overlooking the grounds, a odd faraway look creeping in her eyes. “You know, I always meant to come back and visit. It’s just...” She trails off, as her free hand drifts unconsciously to the sun medallion hanging from her neck.

“Life gets in the way.” he finishes for her. The archmage robes hanging in one corner are his own reminder.

“Something like that.” Whatever thought she has passes, and her expression clears as she decisively snaps the book shut. “Are you packing up in any particular order?”

“We’ve spelled those crates for protection against the weather - the books are meant to go in those. By color, if you would.” He grins as she rolls her eyes at him, though she’s smiling too. 

They settle into an easy rhythm - he finishes the desk quicker than expected, and starts working his way through the opposite end of the color spectrum. The conversation stays on lighter topics - they’re debating the finer points of arcane magic (“You could absolutely build in those kinds of safeguards-” “if it didn’t take a ludicrous amount of power and overload the whole network-” “- still so pragmatic!”) when someone clears their throat in the hallway, surprising them both. 

“Liefred and Linden, back at it again.” Pan leans in the doorway nonchalantly, smirking at the pair of them. The look Red shoots him only widens it further before he turns to Moira. “Your smiling friend bet he could scale the spire in under ten minutes. Says he wants you on hand if his nine lives don’t work out.” 

“Didn’t anyone tell him about the lightning wards?” When Pan raises his hands defensively, she sighs. “That’s Chase for you. I’ll be there in a minute.” 

Pan casts a final grin at Red before pushing off the doorframe, whistling some jaunty tune that echoes through the hallway.

She sets down her last book with a thoughtful smile. “Liefred and Linden. I’d forgotten that.”

Red grins weakly, looking down at the book in his hands. “So had I.”

She rests a hand on his forearm briefly. “I’m glad you’re coming back to Haven. I’ve missed having you around.” 

Before he can think of a reply, she's gone. 

Something flickers in the pit of his stomach.


	2. return

Three days at a conference, two delayed flights, and one snowstorm threatening to cancel them entirely, but he’s made it back in one piece.

Red locks the door, flicks on the hall light, and sets down his bag as quietly as possible. Some of the tension drains out of him as he slips off his shoes and hangs up his overcoat, careful not to let the closet door creak.

The cat’s unblinking stare follows him as he pads quietly into the kitchen of their little apartment, made cozy in the dim golden light. It’s incredibly lucky they didn’t have to sleep at the airport - and even then, the last fifteen minutes after dropping off Ayla were a bit touch and go, with the ice forming on Haven’s narrow streets. He’s still a little jittery from airport kiosk coffee, but a couple extra hours of wakefulness have probably saved his life on the drive back. It’s funny - he wouldn’t have thought of it that way before, when he was only getting back _from_ somewhere, but it feels more important now that he has a place to come back _to_.

He scratches the cat behind the ears. Reheats the marked container of pasta (can he just say that homemade lasagna beats cold sandwiches any day?) in the fridge while the clock on the microwave glows at him - _1:43 AM_. Tucks the sticky note from the lid, now folded into a little crane, in Moira’s copy of Persuasion before replacing it carefully on the shelf.

 _That’s how much I love you_ , she told him as they packed up shirts and socks and spare chargers. _You get to handle my favorite books. If our house becomes a historical site, scholars are going to spend hours debating what kind of hermit would collect this many stories._

 _I get to handle your favorite books because you leave them in completely improbable places_ , Red replied, carefully lifting the cat out of his suitcase again. _Last night I found Marie Curie’s biography tucked between the cake mixes, which I think would thoroughly stump any archaeologist._

 _Much like radium, unexpected exposure to the history of science is a hazard of letting me in your life,_ she countered lightly, and passed him another perfectly folded shirt. 

When he’d checked on her earlier, she was curled up under four blankets (apparently it’s a lot colder without him). Every time she insists on waiting up for him, and every time she’s asleep before he gets home. Honestly, he’s a little relieved - between brutal hospital hours, delaying her paperwork to reassure anxious patients, and trying to cram side projects into her evenings, she doesn’t rest nearly as often as she should. 

If it wasn’t for the caffeine, he’d try to catch a few hours’ sleep himself - closing your eyes while the hum of a jet engine presses in on your ears is an increasingly poor substitute for the comfort of his - _no, our,_ he reminds himself, still getting used to the change - bed. There’s a tiny sense of _something_ missing whenever he gets dispatched now, like a magnet tugging at the back of his mind. He's more….. anchored, maybe? But no, that implies that Moira weighs him down, when she’s only ever done the opposite.

A mystery for another time. He settles himself at the desk, cat in lap, and begins trying to outline the first draft of the article. Ayla sends him a few of the photos later - being able to mess with the layout jogs his creativity sometimes, when he can lose himself in fitting bits and pieces of his notes together in a mosaic of information.

He’s making progress (decent, could be better) when a message pops up from Del - his sister is halfway across the world researching oral tradition, and it’s been months since they could talk in real time. They cover the usual list - family, friends, research, historical biases, author’s intent, all jumbled together in typical Antiqua fashion.

IA: Okay, I have to get going; we’ll be out of Internet range any second now, and I have some questions for our driver. Get some rest! It’s 3 am there. 

RA: I’n not feelibg that tires yet, but I’ll do my best.

RA: *I’m; feeling; tired

IA: Betrayed by your own hand. Tell Moira I said hi, and we’re watching that movie next time I’m in town. Love you. <3

RA: Love you too. Good night. :)

Even thousands of miles away, she’s right - the coffee has finally worn off, and the screen is starting to make his eyes ache.

He takes a quick shower to get the plane feeling off, still contemplating that traveling thing. It's bothersome, when the right word is inches from your fingertips but it keeps slipping out of your grasp. Not stability, not security, not comfort - something that combines all three. Maybe he can articulate it better tomorrow.

Despite his best efforts, Moira stirs a little as he climbs into bed, shuffling closer until she’s firmly nestled against his side. 

“Hey, you,” he whispers, pressing a brief kiss to the top of her head. She hums sleepily in reply, one hand feeling around until she can catch his free hand and twine their fingers together. There will be plenty of time to talk later - for now, he’s content to drape his other arm around her and let his eyes slide shut.

Right before he drifts off, he finds the words he’s looking for - 

It’s nice to be home.


End file.
